


Must be Mice

by vrepitsals



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Palamice, Space family, The Mice are the Original Paladins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 01:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11910768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrepitsals/pseuds/vrepitsals
Summary: Coran is running.He's running with the fate of the universe on his shoulders.He's running to their final destination, their last option, the zero point zero zero one percent chance they have of survival, of finding a way out of this mess.





	Must be Mice

Coran is running.

He's running with the fate of the universe on his shoulders.

He's running to their final destination, their last option, the zero point zero zero one percent chance they have of survival, of finding a way out of this mess.

He has done what Alfor asked, hidden the Castle, disabled the Black lion.

He has wished his best friends off on a journey from which he can only hope he will one day see them return.

Zarkon is out there watching, Galran ships scanning every inch of the universe for signs of Altean life.

Their only option is to shut down the castle, hide away any type of life force that Zarkon's scanners could detect.

But the castle's safety overrides won't turn off until all the occupants are safely encased in cryogenic sleep.

He takes a corner too fast and almost slips. There are small hands yanking on his hair, and he throws out an arm to try and catch the two mice who've been knocked off his shoulders.

He hears squeaking in his ears that could mean 'hurry up' or 'slow down'. He wills his legs faster.

The thirty dobashes to the sleeping chamber stretch on for quintants, but suddenly he's here. Allura is lying next to one of the pods, right where he left her.

She won't stay asleep long, now that Alfor's magic is no longer holding her in slumber.

He brushes the hair away from her face, and stands her up with gentle arms.

The cryopd opens its doors for him.

“Sleep well, princess,” is whispered to the empty air.

Unbidden, three mice crawl in with her, curling around near her feet and closing their eyes.

Only one remains. It crawls down his arm but pauses at his wrist, looks back at him with the eyes of his king.

Coran's heart aches.

"I'll see you again soon, my friend," he says, and runs a finger gently across the top of the grey mouse's head.

It leans into the touch for a moment, squeaks once, and joins the others.

Coran lets the pod hiss closed, and walks to the control panel.

He types in a string of parameters, shuts off the console, and gets into his own pod without a thought.

They will wait until a new pilot for the Black lion can be found. They will wait until the universe has a fighting chance.

He doesn’t even consider how picky the lions can be.

They wait for ten thousand years.

 

* * *

 

Coran is trying.

His heart is in his stomach even as he puts a hand on the boy's shoulder. Blaytz's replacement.

The one Blue chose.

He doesn't know how to raise one teenager, now he has five. Five teenagers, and a young man who's already seen too much.

And far too many secrets.

"I understand, I miss Altea."

Lance walks forward, staring at the holographic stars. Staring at a planet too many light years away to count.

If Coran could take him home, he would.

He would return the new paladins to Earth, rebuild Altea with his bare hands, give his life to save the universe from Zarkon's grasp.

He can't do any of it.

He doesn't even know the spell Alfor used. He doesn't know what went wrong.

He wants to protect the boy next to him more than anything, but when the room explodes, when death comes, it's Lance who pushes him out of the way, it's Lance who takes the hit, Lance who falls amongst the debris.

_It's against the natural order,_ Coran thinks, as he tries and fails to stay conscious, _for the future to try and protect the past._

 

* * *

 

Coran is searching.

He pours over the ancient texts, every one of the ship's logs. He uses every key term and every database and every second that Allura is asleep to find the information he craves.

But Sacred Altean magic is old.

Even in Alfor's time it was so close to extinction, so nearly overtaken by science.

Even then, there were few who practised it.

If he had the libraries of Altea, if he had the tomes and manuscripts from long ago, he's sure he could have managed it.

He doesn’t.

He starts scouring the ship for books, checks his quarters, the living rooms, the small library three times over.

He sits and asks a mouse for advice.

It looks up at him with wise, sad eyes and shakes its head.

He almost loses hope.

He can't allow himself to lose hope.

The damn spell.

All it should have done was hide their quintessence signatures.

It should have left Alfor able to fix it.

 

* * *

 

Coran is improvising.

He’s performing a comedy show that no one asked for, to a crowd who don't even want it, who need it more than anyone else.

He does what little he can to protect their bodies, to ensure no one comes to any more harm than the healing pods can fix.

But he doesn't know how to protect their spirits.

He can already see them breaking; Pidge's incessant search, Keith's insomnia, Hunk's deflection, Lance's mask.

He tries to lift the burdens from Allura and Shiro's shoulders. Tries to place them on his own.

Tries to make the team forget, even for a second, what's at stake.

But perhaps that's not the best thing for them.

If he could be a better leader, if he could deliver them Alfor, if he could stop the war.

But he cannot.

He cannot stop the flow of damage, of pain.

All he can do is give them each a band-aid and pretend it's all better.

All he can do is his best.

 

* * *

 

Coran is watching.

He is left on the bridge, alone, watching Voltron.

Watching his family die.

The mice sit before him, staring at the scene in shock. None of them move. Breathe. Think.

It can't be true.

He isn't sure how long they stay there, but Coran's hand is on the controls, ready to push the ship onward, into the abyss.

He can't follow, not if he truly is the universe's last ditch effort at hope.

But the only other option to fly away without them, to admit they're gone.

An impossibility.

So he waits.

When he sees Voltron push back through the rift he throws his head back and cheers.

Then he's running through the castle, towards the hangers, with the mice holding onto his hair for balance.

He bursts through the doors, and they're all there.

Walking out of lions and taking off helmets and greeting him with a smile.

His grin threatens to split his face in two as he pulls each of them into his arms.

 

* * *

 

Coran is lying.

He tells them most of the truth, almost all of it, almost to the letter. He just leaves out the final chapter.

He can't subject Allura to this false hope. He can't make any of the paladins worry over an eventuality that may never come to pass.

"Alfor was killed."

It brings a sting to his throat, brings back memories and flashbacks and nightmares and crazed imaginings.

They had all been happy once.

There is a chance, however minute, that they could regain some of that happiness back.

But he can't bring the smile back onto Allura's face with the knowledge he may one day have to dash it.

So he waits until the day he can deliver on all he promises.

 

* * *

 

Coran is walking.

He’s walking slowly through the castle, retracing his steps.

The mice are on his shoulders again.

They spend most of their time with him, these days. Allura is busier than ever piloting the Blue Lion, and spends more and more of her days with the rest of the team. Training, resting, living.

Putting herself back together.

Coran watches his new family laugh, and it brings a smile to his face.

But he is more surrounded by ghosts than even Allura. They stayed in her past. They are a tug in the back of Coran's mind, an ever-unchecked box. They consume his present, soothe his mind, and drive him onwards.

The mice hold onto his hair for balance.

They don't need to this time.

He breathes a sigh as the door to the cryopod chamber opens, and picks up a cleaning cloth.

He whistles as he works, and smiles when Lance comes in to help him.

Lance starts telling him about training, about Pidge's new project, Allura's plans for the next mission, Keith's latest attempt at a pep talk, what Hunk's making for dinner.

The mice scurry off  his shoulders, climb up Lance’s legs, and preen under his attention.

Coran lets the words flow over him, and some of his worry goes with them.

 

Coran is healing.

**Author's Note:**

> This began as an exploration of the theory that the mice were the original paladins, and ended up just making me love Coran even more.


End file.
